


Breathing Space

by thoughtsareconstellations



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, M/M, William Laurence is RetiredTM, very convenient libraries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 15:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsareconstellations/pseuds/thoughtsareconstellations
Summary: Dark, unused libraries are very convenient if you need a break from a ball and haven't seen your boyfriend in almost a month. (A birthday present.)





	Breathing Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maledictius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maledictius/gifts).



The door clicked shut behind him, and William Laurence was alone. The music was still audible through the walls, but mercifully dulled, and in the cool, dimly lit library, it sounded as if it was part of a dream. He had spent the last hour in an overcrowded ballroom at an affair carefully designed to be the talk of the ton, and therefore too boisterous, too stuffy, and too noisy to be anything but torture to endure. Laurence was in his only suit of evening clothes, painfully glad that retirement spared him the need to wear uniform, as it made him all too easy to identify even in a throng of people. He had been dismayed to discover that he was now considered a desirable catch worth being pursued, despite his past, and had employed every shameful trick he knew to avoid being trapped by a society matron with an ambition to marry her daughter to a celebrated war veteran with just enough scandal attached to his name to appear exciting.

He had led Emily Roland to the floor for the first set, smiling at her furious blush and skilfully avoiding her straying feet, which were so much more accustomed to clambering up and down a dragon a thousand feet in the air than anything requiring as much grace as dancing. Her mother had laughed openly when he returned Emily to her care.

‘Be glad it was Laurence twirling you about and not one of those dandies who begged for the privilege earlier – he’d sink through the ground rather than let you disgrace yourself. She hasn’t squashed your toes too much, has she?’ And she had grinned at Laurence, the scarred side of her face moving not quite in tune with the other.

‘Not badly,’ he had responded, and all but dragged her into the first few bars of a waltz, telling himself he wanted to avoid the group of debutantes edging into his field of vision. But he could not fool even himself; Jane was by no means an accomplished dancer, but the steps of the waltz were simple enough, and he could not help but enjoy himself. She was still grinning, and Laurence focussed on the rhythm of the music and the sensation of her in his arms and found it in him to smile back at her, feeling a little foolish.

The invitations had been sent out proclaiming it to be a celebration of the tenth anniversary of the battle of Trafalgar, which served well enough as an excuse to invite a good number of aviators, who had found themselves more desirable company than they were used to. They had made the unconscious decision to stay in one corner of the ballroom, not at all inconspicuous in their distinctive green coats, to avoid undue attention. Laurence had joined them out of habit as well as a conscious need for the company of those who understood perfectly his situation and needed no explanations. The captains of Lily’s formation had already arranged to travel back to the covert early to give a full account of the ball to the dragons, and share a bottle of port or two. Berkeley had slapped Laurence’s back heartily and said: ‘I hope you’re meaning to come with us, Laurence, for Maximus has been pestering me all week about where you have been and why you and Temeraire have not come to visit.’

Catherine Harcourt, looking uncomfortable in a plain gown and delicate slippers, had added that it was foolish of him to think he would not be welcome, and besides, one did not cease being an aviator simply because one resigned from one’s post. She had smiled grimly, then demanded that someone take to the floor with her: ‘I have spent so much time getting dressed tonight that I could have flown around England twice, and I shan’t let it be for nought just because none of you care to be gentlemanly.’

So Laurence had bowed, and requested the honour. She had frowned fiercely as she tried to recall the steps, and he had been glad for the excuse not to make conversation as he ought. He had taken his leave of them immediately afterwards, and fled to the first unoccupied room he could find.

It was not that he had not enjoyed himself. It had been almost a year since he had spent any significant amount of time in company; Tenzing’s estate in Scotland served as a landing place for plenty of feral dragons, but dragons from the Corps rarely came their way. Most days, he had no qualms with the isolation, but Tenzing had been called away to some matter of business almost a month ago, and Laurence had hesitantly acknowledged that the complete lack of human conversation was not something he could bear indefinitely.

Yet here he was now, in a room by himself while the ball continued without him, having sought refuge from the noise and attention he drew even without a green coat to identify him. He stood with his hands braced on a window sill, staring out into the darkness of the gardens, unable to make out anything other than vague shapes and the lights of London beyond the walls.

He did not doubt his decisions. How could he, when he had not felt at peace since the day he took the cure to France, and had watched himself become a version of himself he would not recognise in the mirror? He knew Temeraire sometimes missed the fighting, the excitement of battle, but Laurence could not bring himself to agree with him. He was far too glad to know there would be no new scars on the sleek black hide, no blood glistening on his talons, no nights spent anxiously waiting for a fever to break or a bullet to be dug out. No, he did not regret retirement.

He regretted loneliness.

‘I hope I am not interrupting,’ said a voice that was as familiar to him as his own, and he felt more than heard someone enter the room and lock the door behind him.

‘Tenzing. I did not know you were in Town.’ Laurence did not turn but waited for the other man to join him by the window. Tenzing stood close, and covered one of Laurence’s hands with his own.

‘I only arrived two hours ago.’ There was a pause. ‘From Paris.’

Laurence did not ask. He would be told, soon enough. ‘I hope you did not inconvenience yourself by coming here; you might have waited comfortably at the hotel.’

Tenzing laughed, softly. ‘Yes, and I would not have seen you until tomorrow morning, creeping upstairs and pretending you had not slept with Temeraire. No, that would not do.’

There was no point in denying the accusation, for it would undoubtedly have happened just so. So Laurence nodded, and laced their fingers together. ‘I have been invited to return to the covert with the other captains, but I will happily make my excuses.’

‘Not on my account, I beg you; Jane said as much, and I would not want to you miss it. She directed me here when I arrived,’ he added, noting Laurence’s questioning expression.

‘I did not know I was so transparent.’ He had not told Jane where he had gone.

There was a low, chuckling sound, and Laurence felt the tension he had been holding for the past month ease from his shoulders. He had felt weary to his bones earlier.

‘You know,’ Tenzing said, ‘I have been told there is a house in Town that belongs to me. There is a garden at present filled with topiaries and other such unnecessary things, but it may be made habitable even for a creature as particular as Temeraire.’

Laurence looked up at him, sharply. ‘It would be very convenient, I am sure,’ he began, ‘when he comes to speak to Parliament in the spring.’

‘You are both welcome to it, of course. I have already made arrangements.’

‘Tenzing.’

‘Pray do not try to dissuade me, Will. It is far from my mind to offer you charity; you could very well afford to keep both yourself and Temeraire in perfectly comfortable situation.   
It is not pity. In fact,’ he continued, tugging on Laurence’s arm so they faced each other and he could display an almost rakish smile, ‘my reasons are entirely selfish. I despise hotels, with their insistent lack of convenient connecting doors.’

Laurence was well aware of the colour rising in his cheeks, and looked down at their still-joined hands, which made no improvement. ‘I see,’ was his only response.

Tenzing sighed. ‘No, I do not think you do.’ And he kissed him, smiling.

When they parted some time later, Laurence ran the tip of a finger lightly down Tenzing’s unshaven jaw. ‘Were you that eager?’

He shrugged. ‘I did not see the point in wasting time. Shall I disgrace you with my unkempt appearance?’

‘I doubt anyone will notice,’ Laurence said truthfully, ‘much less care.’ He certainly did not care. He kissed him again.

He had forgotten which house they were in. This was an unused library far enough away from the ballroom that no guest would venture this way, and if they did, they would discover a locked door and find another place to hide. The sun had set hours ago and there was no fire in the fireplace, just the candle Laurence had lit on a side table. The low, flickering light softened the other man’s features and played with the shadows of his lashes on his cheeks.

Sometimes he thought that this was the real reason he had left the Corps. Before, every second they had spent in each other’s company had felt like stolen time; a handshake lingering just a bit too long, a smile across a game of cards, a rushed kiss behind canvas walls that was never enough.

This was different.

This was the slow exploration of already-familiar lines, the luxury to take his time dragging his lips across the sensitive skin of Tenzing’s throat, savouring the delightful noises he made in response to his touch. The knowledge that later tonight Laurence would return to his hotel room to find Tenzing already waiting. They had time.

‘I was told I was attending a ball,’ Tenzing said finally, opening his eyes. ‘Will you dance with me, darling?’

If Laurence hesitated, it was only for the briefest of moments. He felt something deep within him tighten with delight at the endearment at the same time as he nodded and reached for him; it was impossible to tell what was being played in the ballroom, but they both knew a quadrille would not satisfy either of them, and there would have been no space, anyway. He let himself be drawn into a slow, inelegant waltz that was more swaying than dancing, and took a deep, humming pleasure in how possessively Tenzing’s hand rested just below his ribs. Sticklers still considered the waltz too scandalous to be danced in public, and at this moment he knew very well why. They danced pressed together, breath mingling, and Laurence could feel the heat of Tenzing’s body on his skin even through several layers of evening clothes.

How had they survived all these years?

Tenzing sighed dramatically. ‘It has been a long time since my last dance,’ he said. ‘And even longer since I danced in such pleasurable company.’

‘You are a shameless flatterer, as always.’

‘And yet I do not think you are complaining.’

They danced in silence for a while, each appreciating the other’s presence, which even after only a few weeks’ absence felt like water to a dying man surrounded by desert.

‘I suppose,’ Laurence began, ‘that we will have to go back soon.’ Not that he wanted to; if he could contrive a reason that allowed them to stay in this room forever, he could think   
of nothing more desirable.

‘Yes. One would not like to give society cause to whisper.’

Laurence did not say ‘hang society’, although he was tempted to. ‘I shan’t stay long at the covert.’ He had no doubt that Temeraire would have no complaints if he spent the night at the hotel, not when this was his first opportunity in years to sleep in a pile with other dragons like he still very much preferred even to the comfort of his own pavilion up in Scotland. He would once again attempt to convince them to take part in his and Perscitia’s political efforts, but neither Lily nor Maximus were inclined to such intellectual endeavours, and the last time Temeraire had suggested it to Excidium the Longwing had laughed and proclaimed he was too old for such nonsense, despite having at least another fifty years of active service ahead of him.

Finally, they stepped apart. The clock on the mantelpiece declared that the ball must be drawing to a close and Laurence’s absence had no doubt been noticed. They would excuse themselves claiming there had been business to discuss; it was a plausible enough explanation, and Tenzing was come so recently into his inheritance that most still considered him somehow an other, not important enough to be paid attention to, too important to ignore directly.

‘You know of course that I do not, on the whole, care much for balls,’ he said now, still holding Laurence’s hand. His fingers had been left scarred and bent by the torture he had endured in China but they held him close with as much strength as ever before.

Laurence nodded, smiling to himself. ‘Will I have to listen to your complaints about this particular ball for the next fortnight?’

A scarred thumb stroked across the back of his hand. ‘No. I do not think you will.’

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Nate. You asked, I tried to deliver.


End file.
